In Plain Sight
by Cheryl W
Summary: When Sam proves wholly unworthy of his trust, Neal realizes that who he has in his life is more important than who he doesn't. Set sometime after "Gloves Off." No slash.
1. Chapter 1

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: When Sam proves wholly unworthy of his trust, Neal realizes that who he has in his life is more important than who he doesn't. Set sometime after "Gloves Off." No slash.

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Though Neal braced himself for the next blow, it still snapped his head to the left and spiked his pain up another notch. It, however, didn't deter him from smart-mouthing his torturer. "I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed in you, Sam. You're not the good man Ellen believed you were."

Sam shook his hand, had hurt it a little bit with that last punch. "Ellen's never been the best judge of character when it comes to the men in her life. After all, she thought you were worth protecting."

Neal flinched at the truth of Sam's statement, at the flash of renewed guilt at his part in Ellen's death. "So what, you killed her before you got the information you needed. So you think she gave it to me. Sorry, but she didn't give me any information."

But Sam leaned down to meet Neal's pained blue eyes. "She led me to you. That's all I needed her to do."

"And now you have me. Met me weeks ago. So what do you want?" Neal spat, was done playing nice, was too bruised and bloody and stiff from sitting tied to the chair in the warehouse for the last few hours.

"Nothing you can give me, Neal," Sam bluntly announced before he reached into his back pocket and expertly flicked open the blade of his knife.

Neal let out a groaned shout as the blade burrowed through the pant leg of his Devore suit and into his thigh. Before he could hurl a curse at Sam, the man slashed the knife across his chest, leaving a diagonal trail of blood in its wake. "What do you want!?" Neal roared, couldn't manage to talk himself out of the situation if he didn't know the prize Sam was after.

Sam dropped a falsely companionable hand on Neal's shoulder. "Easy: Your father, Neal."

"My father?" Neal sputtered in surprise and mockery. "I don't know where he is, you know that."

"Oh, I know," Sam acknowledged with a patient smile before he lifted his hand from Neal's shoulder, struck out with the knife again, this time sinking it into Neal's right side, expertly between his ribs.

Letting out a cry of pain, Neal fought to concentrate, to do something to buy him the things he knew he was fast running out of: time and blood. Hanging his head, he wheezed, "Then why am I here?"

"Oh, Neal, here I thought you were so smart," Sam taunted. Coming to a crouch by his victim, he reached out and slid his hand under Neal's chin, raised the younger man's head until their eyes met. "It's quite obvious. You're bait, Neal." Interpreting his prey's confusion, he chuckled, "You underestimate your old man if you don't think he's been keeping an eye on you all these years. That he didn't know the deal you cut to get out of the big house, that Ellen got killed because you broke her cover, that you've been palling around with me, the guy who promised to gut him if I ever got the chance."

Neal fought down a chill. His father knew where he was? Always knew? Let him go to jail, become Peter's indentured servant, stood by and watched Ellen be murdered and now was letting him be used as a bartering chip with the psycho in front of him? He didn't believe it, couldn't. Sam lied, about a lot of things, maybe about everything. He had to be lying about this.

As if reading the younger man's denials, Sam ruffled Neal's sweat matted hair. "Sorry kiddo. All true. You really think the cons left you alone in prison 'cause you're a fast talking, charmer. Really?!"

Neal's wide eyes shot up to Sam's. He couldn't mask his reaction, not to this revelation.

"And Ellen staying in Roosevelt Island all those years, right where you could find her if you needed her. You think that was WITSEC's doing? Nah, your old man wanted you to have access to her, one final tie to your old …old life…if you wanted it." Sam scoffed, "Quite the softie, your old man, especially when it comes to you."

"You're making all this up," Neal challenged, didn't want to buy into Sam's lies all over again.

Sam shrugged unconcerned. "Doesn't matter if you believe me or not." He followed that statement with another slice of his knife, this time down the length of Neal's tied right arm.

Hissing in pain, Neal glared at Sam, had only hated one man more: Adler. But his hatred was good for one thing, it refueled his fading adrenalin, made his agony take a backseat to his indignation. "So what if he has been watching. You apparently still don't know where he's at. And if you think he's the type to rush in to my rescue…. you're wholly overestimating his fatherly devotion," Neal bitterly spat, remembered a thousand times he needed his father and he wasn't there, had never been there. He didn't believe that, today, all that was going to change.

"Well, if he doesn't show himself, you'll have died for nothing, Neal," Sam ominously predicted and Neal recoiled back, frantically fought to be released from the ropes tying his hands to the chair even as he saw Sam draw back his hand, ready to inflict a mortal wound.

He never got the chance.

The FBI, Peter Burke in the lead, burst through the warehouse doors at that moment.

Gun mercilessly sighted on Sam's head, Peter snarled, "Drop the knife! Now!"

Reading the deadly intent in Burke's eyes, Sam let the knife clank to the warehouse floor, was immediately yanked away from Caffery and handcuffed by the young black male agent. But as he was being manhandled out of the warehouse, he managed to grab a look over his shoulder, saw that Burke was already at Caffery's side, was tenderly reaching out to the bleeding young man.

And it was then that Sam realized why he had bet the house and lost. The father he expected to show up and save Neal, wasn't the father that came.

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TBC?

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Well, I just had to get this part out there before it went AU with the next episode.

I think this could be a one shot but if someone's interested in more, though it will most likely be AU, please let me know! I would love to get the chance to continue with this storyline!

Thanks for being kind enough to spend your time reading this tale.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I so didn't expect the overflowing results I got from that first part! You guys rock! I loved each and every review and want you to know I really appreciated your encouragement. So, to repay your kindness, I am continuing the story. But as I predicted, this is now an AU storyline from the episode "Gloves off".

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Chapter 2

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Quickly gaining Neal's side, Peter gently reached out, cupped the bound younger man's uninjured cheek. Blue eyes, dulled with agony, rose to meet his. "Neal," he despairingly choked out as he grasped the severity of his friend's wounds, a horrified apology tangled in his tone because this was _his_ fault, _his_ failure. Neal was _his_ to protect.

"Nice timing, Peter," Neal huskily praised, fought to push his lips up into a weak smile, to not let Peter know how badly the pain was ravaging every body part that he owned.

'_Let it up to Neal to give me praises instead of the curses that I deserve for letting this happen,' _Peter emotionally thought before he soothed, "Hang on. I'll get you free." Reluctantly removing his hand from Neal's cheek, he retrieved a knife from his pocket and made careful but quick work of the ropes imprisoning Neal in the chair. But he hadn't taken into account that the restraints were the only thing keeping Neal upright.

As Neal pitched forward, Peter exclaimed with alarm "Neal!" Instinctively, he caught the younger man in his arms, drew him against his chest and held him there. "I got you. I got you," he reassured, his chin coming to rest on the crown of Caffery's head a moment before he began easing them both to the floor.

Coming to a kneel, Peter gently flipped Neal onto his back, flinched at the cry of pain that escaped his usually stoic CI. Cradling Neal's head in the crook of his arm, he couldn't keep his traitorous eyes from drifting down the length of the body lying on the cold concrete floor. Wished to God that it wasn't real, any of it, the red liquid spreading across his friend's once white, crisp shirt, the hole in the pinstriped pant leg and the consequent dark stain expanding from it, the blood dripping from the exposed flesh of Neal's arm. Looking down to Caffery's paper-white bloody and bruised face, he ordered as much as he reassured, "Hold on, Neal. Ambulance is on its way."

With a sick swallow, Neal fought to draw in breath. "Shouldn't I just…cowboy up?" he wheezed, aiming to conceal his agony, his fear by quoting Peter's typical suck-it-up catch phrase.

Peter didn't think of himself as an emotional man, but seeing the damage inflicted on his friend, recognizing the agony pouring off of Neal, feeling the younger man's weak heartbeat and labored breath, it was almost more than he could bear. "Sh…sh…" he soothed, pressing his hand in the wound on Neal's side, striving to ebb the flow of blood, "you can be witty later."

Arching in agony at the pressure Peter was applying to the wound, Neal gave Peter a look that was almost sympathetic as he choked out, "Might ..not …have …later."

Peter drudged up a sarcastic tone, "Oh, now you want to be pessimistic?"

But Neal found the strength to move his uninjured arm, reached out, captured Peter's blood slick hand with his own and looked up into Peter's eyes. "I'm sorry…Peter. I trusted the… wrong person…shoulda ..trusted …you…all along."

As much as Peter had wanted Neal's trust returned to him, he never wanted it like this, never wanted it to cost this much, would never want Neal hurt so he could get it back. "I screwed up too, Neal," he wretchedly admitted, squeezing Neal's hand in his grasp. "My actions put a wedge between us. Exactly what Sam wanted. I was just so determined to protect you…" he inhaled sharply, knew that his failure was evident in the brokenness of Neal's body, was written in the blood pooling on the floor. "Heck of a job I did, right?!" he bitterly spat, his voice cracking apart along with his heart.

"It's…ok…Peter," Neal forgave, wished it hadn't taken Sam showing his true colors for him to remember that Peter had never let him down, had never, would never purposefully set out to hurt him.

But Peter shook his head and his voice trembled, "No, it's not OK. I hurt you and I left you alone. I gave Sam the chance to do this to you," raw hatred brimming in his last declaration.

Rolling his head marginally, Neal held Peter's eyes, contradicted, "He didn't…want me. Wanted my …father."

"Your father? But you don't know where your dad is," Peter replied.

"Sam thought my dad…would come.. for me.…save me," Neal answered, his scorn evident even in his increasing breathlessness. As a new wave of pain crashed over him, he let out a moan and clutched tighter to Peter's hand, didn't know how much longer he could keep his eyes open, push through the burn that came with every breath, tolerate the intensifying and unrelenting pain.

Not sparing precious time to process Sam's motives, Peter leaned further over Neal, drew the younger man against his chest, wished he could absorb Neal's pain into himself. Forcing himself to make light of things for Neal's sake, he hoarsely said, "Well, sorry, Neal, but you're stuck with me being your rescuer." Expected Neal to make some comeback but instead the man's blue eyes slid shut and the body in his arms went infinitely limp.

"Neal!" Peter fearfully beckoned but the other man didn't respond, remained unmoving in his hold. "Come on, Neal. Don't leave me. Our run is not over. Not by a long shot. Neal!" he chokingly pleaded, giving the man in his arms a shake, causing Caffery's head to involuntarily roll in the crook of his arm. But Neal didn't protest the rough handling, did nothing…didn't even draw breath.

"No, no, no, you stay with me. Neal!" Peter shouted before he frantically settled Neal onto the floor and began chest compressions. Hated that every push he made to get Neal's heart beating, more blood seeped onto the floor. It was like in his efforts to save Neal, he was killing him.

And that was such an apt description of his whole relationship with Neal that Peter couldn't fight back a sob-like exhale.

He had gotten Neal out of prison and in his custody to _save him_. But he was starting to see that, instead, all he had brought to Neal was tragedy and loss, danger and pain. That the young man would have been far safer in prison, would not be dying under his hands now if it had not been for him, for his conceited notion that he could protect him.

But Peter had stubbornly clung to the belief that, because he loved someone, they would not leave him. And now, like a hundred times before, Neal was determined to prove him wrong.

"Come on, Neal! Breathe! Fight!" Peter commanded as he did chest compression after compression. And then he did something he had only done once before in his adult life, when Keller had kidnapped El: he prayed. Prayed that the man he had come to love as a son wouldn't be taken from him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the truly wonderful responses for the first chapter. Hope you enjoyed this part too.

And since I can't kill off poor Neal, there will be more story coming up.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 3

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Whatever fears that Peter's stricken "El, Neal…he's …he's hurt" declaration over the phone had conjured up in Elizabeth, the sight of her husband's slumped, despairing form in the hospital's waiting room chair told a much grimmer story. Leaving behind the agent that had driven her to the hospital, she quickly headed for her husband, hated that she couldn't see his face, buried as it was in his hands. But as she drew closer, she noted, with horrifying dread, that Peter's hands had blood on them. '_Neal's blood,_' she bleakly theorized even as she tried to deny it.

"Peter?" she fearfully beckoned, felt another liter of hope drain away as Peter's head snapped up, as she saw the red rimmed eyes, got a glimpse of the expression that he instantly tried to mask from her.

"Honey," Peter greeted with a raw voice that he barely recognized as his own as he came to his feet. Then Elizabeth flew into his arms and he hung on tight, felt her giving him strength even as he returned the favor. Her breathless, "He's not…." was cold against his ear, even colder as it struck deep into his soul. He promptly denied, "No. He's alive." He hated that the cynical part of him tacked on '_for now_.'

But it was proving hard for him to accept hope because, as appalling as it was, he couldn't let go of the feeling in his soul that Neal had died in his arms, had died _with him,_ right there in the warehouse. Yes, the medic team had gotten a heartbeat after a disquieting eternity of trying, but he couldn't believe that it was Neal, was _his_ Neal that they had revived. His Neal was dead…his body just didn't know enough to quit.

Feeling the tremors in her usually rock-steady husband, Elizabeth ordered herself to be strong for Peter, be the anchor he always was for her. Pulling back from his desperate hug, she suggested, "Let's sit down," gave a tug on his hand until he complied. Keeping his hand trapped within her own, she saw that his eyes were focused on their joined hands, his red with the blood of someone that they both loved. "Have you talked to the doctors?"

"Surgery," Peter managed, hadn't heard or understood anything more than that when the doctor had spoken to him.

"Ok, so he's in surgery now. That's good. He's where they can help him," Elizabeth calmly declared but her words garnered a sharp reaction from Peter.

Pulling his hand out of El's and standing up, Peter paced a few steps in front of her before he lowly hissed at his wife. "That was my job. Mine!"

Clasping her hands in her lap, El sought to not shrink back from the anger, the pain welling from her husband's very soul. "What was your job, Peter?" she gently asked.

"To help him! To make sure he didn't get hurt!" Peter rubbed a hand over his mouth but couldn't keep his emotional floodgates shored up, not with Elizabeth there, willing and able to see the real Peter Burke. "It was my job to protect him, El. And I…" he fought back the tears, didn't want to break down, not here, not now. "I let him down. I left him open to Sam's manipulations. El, what Sam did to him…" and his voice went all apart as he remembered the blood, the pain in Neal's eyes, the way Neal just faded away, right there in his arms.

El felt her own throat close up, knew that only the worst things could break Peter, and losing Neal was among the top of that list. When Peter collapsed back into the chair at her side and took her hands in his, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "He'll fight to stay with you, Peter. He knows how much he means to you."

But Peter shook his head. "No, no he doesn't, El. Not really. He thought my butting into his investigation with Sam was about trust, my not trusting him but it wasn't. It was about fear, mine. Fear that Neal would get hurt, yes, but also fear that Sam…" he hesitated, didn't want his wife to know how pathetic the man she married was.

"Sam would what?' El prodded, knew that, whatever Peter was struggling to say, it was the heart of all this.

"Would fill some void in Neal that I couldn't," Peter confessed with a rush of air. And when El didn't look at him with condemnation but instead with understanding, he elaborated, "I'm not Neal's father, I know that. But El…"he bit his lip a moment. "He feels like my son sometimes. When he risks his life, when he jumped that aerial tram…I stopped breathing, El. Didn't start until I knew he was ok. And I get so …so blindly protective of him, can't stand to see him hurt."

"Because you hurt when he does," El softly guessed, would have enjoyed her husband's wide eyed response on any other occasion but the present one. "I know, honey. He fills the void we swore we'd never feel about our decision to not have children."

Peter pulled back so he could meet El's eyes. "Wait, you too?"

El gave a tearful smile and when she nodded her head, those tears broke free and she buried her head into Peter's chest, coiled her hand in his bloodstained shirt. "I can't lose him either, Peter."

Putting his arm around El's shaking shoulders, Peter declared, "We won't. We won't let him go."

Sniffing in Peter's shirt, El choked out, "Ok." Because Peter never lied to her, Peter never accepted defeat, Peter always got his man…no matter how long it took. And right now, Peter had once again set his sights on getting Neal Caffery back, and when he did, there was no way they were going to let him run away from them again.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the reviews on last chapter that had my smiling with evil happiness.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 4

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Neal had beaten all the odds, that was what the doctor had said. Peter had smiled, shook the doctor's hand and gloated, "That's just Neal for you."

But beating the odds didn't look like much of a victory from Peter's vantage point beside Neal's hospital bed. Stealing his hand across the mattress, he captured the younger man's limp hand in his. "I'm here, Neal. I'm not going anywhere," he tenderly vowed, wondered how the younger man would react to those words if he wasn't unconscious. Wondered if he would have the courage to say everything he wanted to say to the younger man if Neal was awake. He doubted he would.

"You know this is just more evidence that I shouldn't ever let you off your anklet monitor," he joked, wished to God Neal had had it on the night before, that it hadn't taken him all night to find him. As it was, he had found him just in time and yet, clearly too late in so many respects.

But Neal didn't give his patent scowl at Peter's dark humor, didn't blink an eye, didn't do anything but breathe. And right now, that was enough for Peter, more than enough.

Releasing Neal's hand, Peter laid his hand gently on top of Neal's dark locks of hair before withdrawing it back to coil around the hospital bed rail. "Neal, I thought I lost you for good," he tremulously confessed to the unaware young man. "And I…I can't do that. I told Ellen that if anything happened to you because I gave you the signal to run, that I couldn't live with it. But that wasn't just about my capability in your running, or guilt talking, wasn't just about you getting hurt by Collins. There's never going to be a time or reason that I'm going to be OK with something happening to you."

And Peter wished Neal would know that, would trust that, could believe that. "I know..I know your family broke your trust, lied to you and hurt you. And you think I did the same thing. I guess we all did it for the same reasons: to protect you. But I can see where it feels to you more like betrayal. I never meant to betray your trust, to hinder your search for your father…I just…" Peter broke off, bowed his head, hoarsely revealed, "didn't want you hurt, didn't want us to lose what we have."

'_And my selfishness had Neal running right to Sam, almost got Neal killed_,' he angrily surmised as he stood up, paced the room, ran his hand through his hair. "And that was exactly what Sam was counting on! Wanted you and I at odds, wanted to get you alone and off your ankle monitor. And I played into it like a world class chump, never saw it coming. I didn't like the guy, yeah, but I had no idea he would …" Peter stumbled to a halt, faced his CI who was lying so pale in the bed, bandages around his torso, knew another set circled Neal's leg, "…do this to you, Neal. You have to believe that," he heartbrokenly implored.

He startled when the hospital room door opened, had to turn away, compose himself before he faced whoever was coming to see Neal. June's despairing "Good Lord, no," had him spinning around, ready to offer the older woman moral support she seemed to need after getting her first sight of Neal. Though she did lean into the arm he put around her waist, she didn't tear her welling eyes from the wounded younger man she was so very fond of. "Why?" she gasped, anguish and anger coiled together in the one worded question.

Peter shook his head slightly. "Not exactly sure why Sam did it. He's refusing to give a statement. But Neal said Sam wanted to lure his father out."

That caused June's eyes to snap to Peter's as she sharply asked. "Neal's father?"

Peter chose to simply give a nod. He knew that Neal trusted June as a confidante, hoped his silence would prod the woman into telling him something Neal might have shared with her.

But June wasn't so unlike Neal, kept her secrets and other people's truths close to her heart. So instead of falling for Peter's ploy, she stepped out of his supporting hold and crossed the room to Neal.

Peter knew she deserved her time with Neal but that didn't make it any easier on him to walk away, to leave Neal's side. He saw the kiss June bestowed on Neal's forehead before he slipped out of the room. And it totally mystified him how Neal's parents could have been foolish enough to let him slip away from them, to lose him and never get to know the incredible man that their son had become.

'_Their loss is my gain_,' he thought and it sounded so childish that he nearly chuckled. Neal would like that, him being territorial over him. Would have spent the rest of the day, maybe week, gloating over it, slipping that fact into their conversation any chance he got. How he loved working with the kid, couldn't imagine his life without him.

El's voice jarred him out of his reverie. "Is Neal awake?" her tone hopeful.

"No," Peter replied, his disappointment and worry again reclaiming their hold on him.

El slipped her hand in her husband's and met his eyes. "But you looked…I don't know, almost like you were smiling."

"Just looking forward to Neal being awake, eating up all this attention," Peter affectionately spoke about his ward.

El smiled. "You're right. He will love it."

Slipping his arm around El's shoulders, he steered them for the elevators. "June's in with Neal so let's go get something to eat."

"There's a restaurant a few blocks…" El began but could already see the protest in Peter's features. "You don't want to be that far away from Neal, do you?'

"He might wake up, El, and I want to be there. I need to be there," Peter insisted, couldn't bear the thought of Neal waking up alone, being in pain, maybe fearing that he wasn't safe.

Suddenly, Elizabeth could see it so clearly, the father Peter would have been, the father Peter _was_.

And hours later, when Neal opened his eyes to see Peter hovering worriedly by his bedside, hand wrapped in his, Elizabeth prayed Neal recognized that side of Peter too.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those wonderful reviews from last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 5

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The slight movement of the hand that he held jolted Peter awake, had him raising his head from the edge of the hospital bed and his eyes flying up to focus intently on the too ashen, bruised face of the wounded man occupying the bed. A face that gave no signs that its owner was waking, had moved, was capable of moving. Fighting down a shaft of fear and despair, Peter exhaled, wondered when his logical deductions had given way to wishful thinking. '_Probably the same time I started rooting for Neal's conman schemes to work on our cases,' _but there was no censure in that thought, was instead only affection.

But then it happened again, the twitch of the hand he held and he knew he wasn't imagining it this time, anymore than he was the fluttering of Neal's eyelashes.

Leaning closer, Peter half tentatively entreated and half commanded, "Neal?" Contrary to his wishes, the blinking ceased, almost as quickly as it had started. Not willing to let Neal sink back into unconsciousness, unable to bear living with the fear of not knowing the damage Neal's not-breathing-for-way-longer-than-it-was- healthy had inflicted on his friend, Peter changed tactics, made his tone gentle, soothing, reassuring, "You're safe, Neal. I'm here. El's here." Rewarded with a return of the blinking reflex, Peter encouraged, "That's it," couldn't hold back his wide smile when the blue eyes he knew so well finally made an appearance.

Neal's mind was a muddled menagerie of images, of voices, of conversations before piercing agony claimed his full attention, swept away his confusion, replaced it with sharp clarity: Sam. Waiting for his father. Then Peter had come.

But he didn't know where he was now, tried to do what his instincts always told him to do when he felt vulnerable: run. He moved and nearly lost himself to the void, to the agony. But a voice kept him from teetering over the edge, gave him the strength to force his eyes open again, to blink his vision into focus. But he still couldn't trust the sight he thought he was seeing. "Peter?" his voice so raw, so breathless he doubted a moment that it was his own.

The affectionate look the figure hovering by his bed bestowed on him confirmed that Peter was really there. The older man was the only one who gave him that particular look, like he was glad to see him, proud of him even. "Peter," he exhaled with heartfelt relief.

Peter's knee buckling relief that Neal recognized him, said his name, wasn't showing signs of brain damage manifested itself in a joyous chuckle of "Yeah," followed by a profound, "Thank God you're awake." But his relief vanished when Neal unadvisedly moved again. This time the younger man's body arched in agony and a soft whimper of pain escaped Neal's tightly clenched jaw. Surging from his chair, Peter placed his free hand on Neal's cheek even as Caffrey's body arched further off the bed. "Neal, hold on. El, get the doctor!" he ordered his eyes not leaving the wounded man.

But Neal was doing some hideous reenactment of the scene in the warehouse, was refusing to draw in a breath. Maybe couldn't. "No, no! I'm not losing you again," Peter frantically vowed, slipping his hand down to bracket the side of Neal's taunt neck, used his fingers to tilt up Caffery's chin until his eyes again held Neal's wide panicked gaze. "Take a breath, Neal. I'm here. I'm not going to let you go but you have to meet me half way." Then he felt Neal's hand return his squeeze with painful strength as the younger man redirected his agony, shared it, gave some of it to Peter. "Now pull in a breath, you can do this," Peter instructed with a trembling voice that held no traces of the doggedly single-minded FBI Special Agent Burke.

Reacting to Peter's voice, seeking to obey his friend's command, Neal forced in a breath, couldn't bit back the cry of pain that tumbled out in its wake.

A cry that vibrated painfully through Peter's heart, made his next command seem cruel. "That's great, Neal. Now another," he gently prodded, ran his thumb tenderly along the bruises marring Neal's cheek. Offered Neal a proud smile as he drew in another breath and another and his body started to relax, to settle back onto the mattress. Bestowing a watery smile on Neal, he praised, "That's my boy. You're not a quitter, Neal. You're not."

Then they were not alone and Peter was being pulled away from Neal so the medical team could treat Caffrey, could measure his lung capacity, do something to even out his erratic heart rate, temper the agony he was suffering because of the damage inflicted on his body. And Peter knew it was selfish to begrudge them that ability, to want to heal Neal himself, to do something other than stand there, helpless in the face of Neal's pain, all over again.

Peter startled when a hand slid into his. Looking to his right, he saw Elizabeth there, her horrified eyes on Neal and the doctors and nurses working on the man they had claimed as a part of their family. His need to shelter El gave Peter the strength to leave the room, to pull her back with him. But he still flinched when the hospital room door closed, when he could no longer see Neal. Suddenly it felt like someone was still trying to snatch the younger man from his life, from their lives. "He's no quitter," he whispered, repeated like a mantra, "He's no quitter, El."

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When Neal woke again, he almost believed he had dreamed his last resurrection, though this one was starting out similar. There was someone holding his hand and when he opened his eyes, Peter was there, like he was that first hazy time. But the FBI agent remained immobile, the only indication that he knew Neal was looking at him was a widening of his eyes as they met his.

"Pet…"

But Peter put him off with a gentle, "Sshh…ssshhh." Sliding to the edge of the chair he sat on, Peter raised Neal's hand that was caught in his own and gave it a careful squeeze. "You don't need to say anything. You just being alive, that's all I need right now. The rest, we'll figure out together."

And even in the fog of painkillers, Neal knew what Peter was offering, his strength, his friendship, his forgiveness and on top of all that: Hope. Things Neal associated with Peter, things no one offered to him as often, as willingly, as sincerely as Peter did. And he had nearly thrown it all away for Sam, for a man who did his very best to kill him. There was no greater fool than him. Didn't know why Peter was there with him, how he could stand the sight of him, let alone offer him absolution for his betrayal.

Reading the guilt in Neal's pain dulled eyes, Peter leaned close, put his hand on crown of the other man's head. "It's ok, Neal. Just close your eyes, get some more rest." Moving his hand down to cup Neal's cheek, he vowed, "I'll be here when you wake up and things will start to get better. I promise they will."

At Peter's reassurances, Neal felt his tenuous grip on consciousness slip, felt the suffocating fear and worry ebb away. Whatever his future held, he knew for the first time that he wouldn't have to face it alone.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews on last chapter! I do have at least two more parts planned for this story, hope you'll be interested in reading them.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: When Sam proves wholly unworthy of his trust, Neal realizes that who he has in his life is more important than who he doesn't. Story takes up after "Gloves Off." No slash.

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Chapter 6

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"He didn't come, Moz," Neal sullenly imparted to his best friend, giving the hospital sheets a shove off his chest in aggravation.

"I think that's a matter of opinion," Mozzie drawled from his perfectly situated chair that ensured he didn't touch any of the other germ infested hospital furniture.

"Sam was carving into me and my father didn't show. No interpretation needed," Neal disdainfully shot back.

Shifting a little in his chair, Mozzie unleashed his calmest tone on his wounded and emotionally scarred friend. "Admittedly, I am no expert on biological parentage, but I am well versed on the intrinsic value of assigning persons in our sphere of existence similar roles."

Neal lifted his IV attached hand. "Moz, I'm on more drugs than I can recite. Simplification is the key."

Mozzie exhaled, a little miffed at having to give up his psychological musings in exchange for the blunt announcement of a fact Neal shouldn't have to be told. He settled for a concise but wise tidbit of wisdom. "Sometimes, the best fathers have no biological sons."

"Are you working on your fortune cookie quote book again?" Neal knowingly pegged.

"Well, yes, but that's not the point." At his friend's expectant look, Mozzie abandoned all his clever deflections. "Peter, Neal. Peter came for you."

"Well, sure," Neal matter-of-factly stated, because it had never occurred to him that Peter wouldn't come, that Peter wouldn't figure out that he was in trouble. The worrisome part had been, would Peter get there in time. "But Sam was certain that my father would know that he had taken me, that my father would risk himself to save me."

"Neal, seriously, how many milligrams of morphine are they giving you?" Mozzie snapped, grabbing his friend's chart and beginning to skim the notations.

Understanding an insult when he heard one, Neal reached out and ripped the chart from his friend's grip but he immediately regretted the rash movement when pain assaulted him from head to toe. He lost some seconds after that, didn't know when the bed had been laid flat or when Mozzie had come to stand over him, put his hand on his chest and let it rest there, germs be danged. "Easy, Neal. It's Ok. I'll do something to make it better…I'll …I'll call the nurse."

But Neal was coming back to himself, wheezed out a "No, don't." When he clutched onto Mozzie's hand, he wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to ensure his friend didn't follow through on his plan or if he needed an anchor against the pain, like Peter had offered him every other time the pain had nearly crushed him.

To Neal's relief, Mozzie didn't call him out on either motive, simply coiled his hand around his and waited out the pain with him. After a few moments, the pain receded enough to allow him to release his friend's hand, to breathe again, to think, to process what Mozzie had been trying to tell him. "What do you mean, Peter came for me?"

Mozzie felt his heart catch as he stood over the terribly weak, in pain, and so un-Neal-like figure occupying the hospital bed. It drew a softer tone out of him than he thought himself capable of. "When I fabricated what my father would be like, he would always get me out of trouble, even if I started it, would knock off days of work so we could go to a ballgame, would brag to everyone how smart I was, would take on the very government to protect me." He let that sink in for a moment, could see the concentration in his friend's eyes. "Neal, Peter's done all of that for you, more than once." And he saw the protest rise in Neal, saw the ever clever man put the theory through its paces. Then he saw the stark, unabashed shock before Neal's features morphed into a demeanor of staunch denial.

"Peter?! No, Moz he's…"

"Your other best friend, I know. But it goes deeper than that for him," Mozzie insisted, knew that Neal wouldn't believe it without more proof. "Neal, I saw his face when his left hook knocked you down for the count in the boxing match. It was like he hated himself, thought he had just committed child abuse, had done the unthinkable and struck his own son."

"It's not like that with us. I'm his obligation…." Neal deflected, didn't want to let Mozzie's words sink it, to take them seriously, especially when he knew he had a proclivity to ache for a father's approval, to desperately try and patch up the holes in his soul where a father's love belonged with revolting replacements….like Vincent Adler.

Mozzie snorted. "Children are obligations. I saw this lady on fifth and ninth with these two children…"

"Mozzie, stop," Neal barked which sent pain through his lungs but it was worth it when his friend fell silent, when Mozzie didn't continue to fill his heads with a fantasy so terribly enticing it was painful.

Watching Neal turn his head away from him, reading the pain thrumming through his friend, Mozzie felt ashamed that he was pushing Neal so hard. But even as he contemplated stopping, he realized that he was more afraid of what would happen if he did, if Neal kept searching for a father that could never be better than the one he already had in his life. "I showed you my puppet story, about how my parents were spies," he began, waited until Neal rolled his head back, until his friend's weary eyes met his, acknowledged that he wasn't shutting him out. "I made them out to be heroes to absolve them from the guilt of not being there for me."

"Mozz, I'm sorry. I know I had it better than you growing up…."

"Let me finish, Neal," Mozzie gently interrupted, saw Neal's slight bob up his head. "But while I was pining for my parents, someone was there for me all that time. Teaching me to believe in myself, to use my intelligence to defend myself, someone who always had my back, who I trusted when I couldn't trust anyone else."

"Mr. Jeffries," Neal surmised.

Mozzie nodded. "He wasn't my real father, I know that. But he was a better father to me than my own father, than a lot of other fathers out there who don't abandon their kids, fathers who do something far worse: they stay with their kids and spend a lifetime hurting them."

Eyes softening as they met Mozzie's, Neal said, "You were lucky to have Mr. Jeffries." At Mozzie's expectant look, he allowed, "And yeah, I'm lucky to have Peter but you're misreading how Peter sees me."

"He tracked you down to an island thousands of miles away and brought you back with him, free of additional criminal charges," Mozzie pointed out.

"He felt guilty, thought he put me in danger," Neal rationally returned.

"After giving you the nod to run. Neal, as much as I personally abhor what the Suit stands for….Peter went against everything he believed in to protect you. That's akin to me being willing to put on a suit and join the FBI."

"Yeah, like that would ever happen," Neal snorted, couldn't help smiling at the thought of that scenario playing out.

Mozzie pointed a finger at Neal. "Exactly. Wouldn't happen. Because _friendship_ only goes so far," he meaningfully drawled out, his eyebrows rising, hoping Neal wasn't too doped up on meds to see how right he was.

Before Neal got a chance to make a reply, a figure appeared in the doorway, immediately snagging his attention.

Mozzie didn't have to turn around to know who Neal had spotted, could tell it was Peter just by the expression in his friend's face. "Suit," he greeted, his back to the FBI agent.

"Mozzie," Peter returned as he approached the two men, came to a stop by Neal's bed.

Though Peter looked less like death warmed over than the first time Mozzie had seen him sitting by Neal's hospital bed, the man still had dark bruises under his eyes, eyes that were narrowing worriedly as he evaluated Neal, apparently not liking what he was seeing. To Mozzie, it just proved his point ten times over, because what good father wouldn't hate to see his son in pain.

Compelled to impart one more piece of sage advice, Mozzie leaned over Neal, whispered, "Truth is a lie we are brave enough to stop telling ourselves." Then giving his friend's shoulder a squeeze, he left the surrogate father and son to their privacy.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews on last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7

In Plain Sight

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: When Sam proves wholly unworthy of his trust, Neal realizes that who he has in his life is more important than who he doesn't. Story takes up after "Gloves Off." No slash.

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Chapter 7

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Looking down at Neal, Peter didn't like the fact that Neal's bed was no longer elevated or seeing the younger man's pinched features. "Mozzie regaling you with tales of how unhealthy it is being in a hospital?" he lightly asked even as he silently vowed to give Mozzie a talking to if the man had anything to do with Neal's current discomfort.

"No," Neal replied, knew he was looking at Peter strangely but he couldn't put Mozzie's theory out of his mind. "Didn't expect to see you again today."

"Work load is light," Peter lied, wasn't so sure Hughes wouldn't ream him out for the backlog of cases on his desk that he had let stack up since Neal had been hurt.

And Neal knew it was a lie because, last week, before everything had fallen apart, he had counted the cases they were behind and it had been a staggering amount. And yet, every time he woke up the last three days, Peter had either been at his side or had soon materialized in the room.

It was Mozzie's fault he now put more stock into that. Put new importance on the fact that his first waking sight had been of Peter at his bedside, that his first sensation, after the agony was filed away and accounted for, was of a hand squeezing his, the hand of the guy who thought "cowboy up" was a rousing compassionate speech. And then there was the way Peter's eyes had held his at that moment. Peter had given him a look like he had in the Cape Verde island, right before he hugged him.

Now Neal recalled how choked his friend's voice had been as he said, "Neal, thank God you're awake." And Neal _almost_ believed that declaration wasn't an exaggeration on Peter's part. Though it would be break from Peter's staunch philosophy on God. But Peter wasn't acting all that like Peter in more respects than that.

For a man who faced life threatening situations with an outward show of fearlessness, there had been a strange uneasiness about Peter the past few days, as if this was a situation FBI Special Agent Peter Burke didn't know how to handle. And that thought had initially scared Neal a bit, made him wonder how badly he was hurt, if Peter knew something he didn't yet know. But when the doctor recounted his surgery to him, explained the extent of his injuries, estimated the time it would take for him to heal, Neal couldn't help but be mystified by what part of it all had made Peter so uncharacteristically nervous.

A nervousness that had been slowly lessening but hadn't completely vanished yet, still showed itself in the careful way Peter always approached his bed, claimed a seat at his bedside, handed him a glass of water by practically wrapping Neal's hand around the plastic cup before he finally released his hold…on the cup and on Neal.

And unlike Mozzie's theory, Neal had another more logical one. That Peter's super attentiveness was more practically explained. Peter felt at fault for his injuries, wrongly blamed himself for the vulnerable situation he had put _himself_ in. And as soon as he cleared all that up, things would go back to the way they were. "Can you help me sit up?" he asked.

"Neal, I think you need your rest…" Peter hedged, didn't like the lack of color in Neal's face.

"I want to talk about what happened," Neal announced, knew that Peter hadn't wanted to push him before and, honestly, with the drugs he had been given at first, it had been more likely that he would confess to one of _his_ past crimes than start recounting the events that led up to his present medical vacation.

Peter was torn between his concern for Neal's mental wellbeing and his unquenchable need to understand how he had nearly lost the young man that he loved. Seeing the familiar look of determination in Neal's eyes for the first time since everything had happened, Peter bowed to Neal's desires. Sliding his hand under Neal's back, he pressed the button to raise the bed, could feel the bandages that wrapped around Neal's torso as his fingers skimmed over skin that was still too warm, could feel the weakness in the usually fit body that necessitated help with something as simple as leaning forward.

When he deemed Neal comfortable, Peter reclaimed his seat and vowed to wait on the younger man' timing. But as braced as he was to hear Neal detail the agony he had endured at Sam's hands, Neal's first words were wholly unexpected.

"Sam said my father's been watching me, for years. That's why Sam thought he could use me to lure him out of hiding."

It didn't sit well with Peter, the notion of Neal's father lurking around, spying on Neal. The man was wanted by the mob and by dirty cops, was supposed to be off in WITSEC, effectively keeping all the danger away from his family, from his _son_. But Peter buried that cauldron of disrespect and anger, did it for Neal, because this was Neal's father they were talking about. "Do you want me to contact WITSEC, see if he's still in the program, is established somewhere locally…"

But Neal's resounding "no" cut Peter's offer off mid-breath.

And Peter found it harder than it had been before, defending Neal's father, but he still managed to do it. Did it for Neal. "I know you think your father betrayed you, Neal. Left you ….but he might have done it …"  
"For all the right reasons?" Neal acidly challenged.

"Yes," Peter stated, knew that as much as Neal felt anger toward his father, the younger man would always yearn for a connection with his biological father. '_A connection that I can't give to Neal, no matter how much Neal feels like my son,_' Peter painfully had to admit to himself.

"I don't think he's watching me. I don't think he's trying to find me. I don't think he ever intends for us to meet again," Neal declared, believed it more deeply even as he said the words. "Sam thought my father wrangled the marshals to get Ellen located close to me but Ellen told us in the tape that she asked to be close to me and my mom, wanted to protect me. He said my father knew I was in jail, helped me stay safe but to prove that…." But then indecision marred Neal's features, doubt crept into his next words. "Maybe…I don't know…there was this big, kindhearted guard who took good care of me, his name was…."

"…Bobby Weiler," Peter supplied, couldn't stand there and let Neal's father take credit he didn't deserve.

Neal was very rarely shocked speechless but he was this time, could only stare at Peter, struggled to put the pieces together.

Peter shrugged, tried to make it seem like a little thing as he explained, "I might have asked Bobby to watch out for you."

This was all coming from left field for Neal. "Why? You didn't really know me back then, didn't owe me anything."

Peter sighed, could still remember how horrified he was as Neal's sentencing was announced. "Neal, you did white collar crimes, never hurt a soul and they sentenced you to a maximum security prison, with the murderers and kidnappers and…the worst of humanity."

"Thought your motto was 'you do the crime you have to do the time'?" Neal lightly teased.

But Peter glared at him. "Do the time, not get yourself killed in C block."

Neal couldn't quite wrap his head around Peter's kindness, even when he was nothing but a case number to him. "So you're my mysterious benefactor. It's kinda like the Hunger Games, you authorized some flying canister to show up with exactly the supply I needed to stay alive one more day."

Peter manufactured a scowl. "And you wonder why I didn't tell you this before."

"I know why," Neal cockily assured, smiling. He knew that it was all due to Peter Burke's big heart that the other man tried so hard to hide.

"Be quiet now. Nap time," Peter teased, knew that there was no use in trying to downplay what he had done and why. He had liked Neal. And all the time that he had spent chasing him, he had been in awe of "James Bonds" artistic talents, marveled at his genius and admired his love of life. It was Neal's track record of falling in love with something that belonged to someone else that he had had a problem with.

But Neal sobered quickly. Mozzie's theory, Peter's consideration was touching, but he still needed more facts, more proof, more reassurances that he wasn't once again foolishly trusting in a relationship that was bound to end in betrayal and loneliness. "If agent Collins hadn't gotten on my trail, would you have still come to Cape Verde, arranged for me to come back to White Collar with you?" he demanded, needed to hear the truth, for Peter to tell him the truth.

"Yes," Peter definitively declared, had known the second that Diana announced that Neal had cut his anklet that he wouldn't let what they had between them end there. That he wouldn't set Neal adrift in a world where no one knew his real name except Mozzie, let Neal be at the mercy of people who didn't realize how breakable the brash man was underneath it all, like he did.

"Why?" Neal beseeched, didn't know why this good man had done, not once but three times, what his own father and mother never had: searched relentlessly for him until he was found.

There were a hundred reasons why he had chased after Neal but, in truth, Peter had only needed the one to pack his bags and board a plane. "Because I believe a family should stay together," he earnestly declared and before Neal could protest, he hurriedly defended his position. "I know we're not blood but ….that hasn't stopped us from being a family: you, me, El, Satchmo. Even Mozzie's wheedled his way into a seat at our table."

Neal so wanted what Peter was offering but he knew who he was soul deep, that Peter couldn't treat something broken like he was as if it …._he_ were something new, untainted. "Peter I…I.." he stammered. "I'm not good with family stuff. Families, good families, are about trust and truth and …"  
"….Forgiveness, arguing, shared confidantes, little white lies, good times and bad," Peter added to Neal's list. "It's not about perfection, Neal. It's about imperfections. It's about screwing up and still getting a free pass. It's what we've been doing for the past four years, what we have," he explained, loved Neal's open expression of awe. Couldn't resist throwing in a jab at the hopefully reformed thief, " ….and you didn't even have to steal anything to get it."

"Technically, that's not true," Neal drawled with a cocky smile. "I had to steal a lot of things …just to get your attention. Then I had to leave bread crumbs for you to pick up my trail so you could look good to your superiors."

"Oh really, how generous of you," Peter drolly said, reached out and ruffled Neal's hair as they both broke into laugher.

Elizabeth couldn't hold back her smile as she entered the room, heard laughter coming from her two favorite men. "Well, you both sound up to no good," she saucily predicted as she joined Peter at Neal's beside. Giving Neal's cheek a feather light, motherly caress, she noted with concern, "Neal, honey, you look tired."

"He was just about to get some more rest," Peter announced, not wanting him or Neal to be on the bad side of Elizabeth's motherly tenacity, he had played that game too many times with Satchmo and lost.

"Elizabeth, you should know, I think Peter just adopted me," Neal joked, even as part of him wanted her reaction, needed to know where he stood with her.

Leaning familiarly against Peter's shoulder, Elizabeth couldn't hold back her joyful smile. She just knew Peter had it in him to open up, to make himself vulnerable. That he would do it only for the people he loved most in the world and that had included Neal Caffrey for longer than her stubborn husband would ever confess to. But that didn't mean she couldn't divulge a few interesting tidbits. "Neal, you've been family practically the second you stepped out of the prison with the ankle monitor."

"No. No, you weren't," Peter denied with as much believability as a dad who swore he wasn't Santa Clause. "More like my own personal pet, on a leash."

Elizabeth bestowed a knowing smirk upon her husband. "It was three years ago when you saw that old school friend of yours, Hank."

"He was never my friend," Peter interjected, shooting a co-conspiring look to Neal and shaking his head, making the other man smile.

"He was your friend and he was bragging about how smart his son was…"

Knowing where this story was leading, Peter got up, pretended to stretch his stiff muscles. "Well, I think we need to go…."

But Elizabeth wouldn't be deterred, sent a saucily look to Peter before stepping up to Neal's bed again. "And Peter started talking about his son, _Neal_."

"Neal's a very common name, picked it off the top of my head…."Peter tried to derail the train that was set to run him over. But now his wife and his roguish, adopted son were staring at him with smiles.

"_Neal_ who could paint a reproduction of any artist, any period and you would _swear_ it was the real deal," Elziabeth continued to quote her husband, turned to Neal and found that the young man looked genuinely surprised and utterly touched. "He said you had paintings in some of the best galleries in the world."

"That part's true… ..course they happened to be _forgeries_ …" Peter allowed, couldn't help but send a reprimanding look toward Neal.

"A rose by any other name…" Neal quoted, loved Peter's reproving fatherly shake of his head and his, "no, don't do that."

Smiling at the antics of her men, Elizabeth marveled that, four years ago, she had been certain that her and Peter's lives were complete. Didn't know how wrong she was or how much more blessed it would become after Neal Caffrey stole his way into their family. '_They say crime doesn't pay…but sometimes it does_,' she joyously thought, had absolutely no intentions of sharing that thought with her FBI husband.

"Alright, Neal needs to get more rest," she announced, began ushering Peter out the door but her husband stopped at the door, turned back to Neal, his expression drenched in compassion. "It's not your dad or me, you know. You don't have to choose. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

And Neal felt his heart swell, knew that was exactly what Elizabeth had tried to tell him before with her '_we're always going to be here for you._' But now he saw that it wasn't a chain binding him to a decision, it was a lifeline keeping him afloat. Couldn't believe that everything that he had lost when Ellen had told him the truth about his parents, his life, his very name, it had been returned to him, but even better than the original had ever been.

Neal couldn't find the words to honor what Peter was giving him, had given him, could only swallow hard and give a bob of his head. He knew Peter understood the depth of his gratitude by the other man's smile. Then Peter pulled Elizabeth to his side, bade, "Good night, Neal. See you in the morning" and they headed for their home, a home that they had lovingly, trustingly opened to a thief, a liar, a prodigal son. But more risky than that, they had opened their hearts to a son that was not their own.

And Neal found it almost laughable, that after all of the hundreds of things that he had stolen, the most precious thing ever to come into his possession had been hiding in plain sight all along. Free for the taking.

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THE END

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Well, it's been so much fun posting this story and getting to hear all of your wonderful thoughts and encouragements. Thank you all for taking the time to read this story.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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